


Who The Fuck Is This?

by Thranduil_is_a_bitchking



Category: Lucifer (TV)
Genre: Although..., Crack, Deckerstar - Freeform, F/M, Flight attendants are cockblocks, Gabriel is a Little Shit, God is a child, God is a shipper, gratuitous usage of references, michael has had enough of life, my attempt at being funny, not stripper
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-25
Updated: 2017-01-25
Packaged: 2018-09-19 19:56:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 866
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9458162
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thranduil_is_a_bitchking/pseuds/Thranduil_is_a_bitchking
Summary: Soft golden light poured into the golden room. White satin curtains blew gently in the warm breeze. The sound of waves kissing the shore drifted through the open windows. There was nothing but peace and quiet.'Who the fuck is this? What the fuck?!'Or, the one where God reacts badly to people cocking up his plans.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Hello beautiful people! I am back with a quick, bad attempt at humour! I got this idea after the 11th episode of season 2. I had fun writing this, at 5am, regardless of how shitty it is. 
> 
> As always,  
> Enjoy!

Soft golden light poured into the golden room. White satin curtains blew gently in the warm breeze. The sound of waves kissing the shore drifted through the open windows. There was nothing but peace and quiet.

A man lounged in a king size, silk sheet clad bed. Handsome, with dark, greying hair and a well kept beard, he stared intently down at the device held in his hands with wise, old blue eyes. This man was the father of creation. He was God.

God leant forwards, elbows on his knees, eyes widening in anticipation. The two figures on the screen moved closer together. God held his breath. All his muscles tensed, his heart stopped. 

Any second now. Any... _second_...

'Lucifer!'

The tablet fell to the bed with a thump.

'Who the fuck is this? What the fuck?!'

The two figures turned. A woman dressed as a flight attendant appeared on screen. God's eyes hardened in anger.

'This is _not_ my plan,' he growled. 'Michael!'

There was a flutter of wings. The father looked up. His son stood before him, dark haired and blue eyed. Tall, with tanned, olive skin, the son looked at his father expectantly.

'Yes father?' His voice was a deep baritone, smooth like honey and full of resignation.

God thrust the tablet in front of his son's face. Michael sighed. 

'Who is she?' God demanded.

Michael gave a long-suffering sigh, and pulled a tablet of his own out of nowhere. God stood with a swish of his robes, and began to pace, muttering about stupid women and stupid plans, there'd even been chips*, he was saying, and candles, and they were having a _moment_ , dammit.

Michael's golden wings twitched. His eyes scanned the screen before him. He scrolled through pages, typed some words, all while his father seethed at the rapid disintegration of the perfect night he'd planned for his favourite son. 

Damn it all to hell.

Well, not _literally_ , of course. Chloe was for to angelic for hell, and Lucifer was...well he was trying at least. He had more gold stars on the Angel Good-Behaviour ChartTM than Amenadiel and Uriel combined. 

Michael sighed again, handed his tablet to his father. God scrolled through the pages of text.

'Well,' he said. 'This just won't do.'

'Father?'

'She'll just have to go.'

Michael looked off into the distance like he was on the Office, sighed, then wondered how many times a day he did so. Possibly hundreds, nay, _thousands_. 'You can't just kill her father.'

God blinked. He stopped pacing. 'Why not?'

Michael exhaled through his nose. Was that a sigh? Regardless of his chronic sighing, he glared at his father, who was looking at him expectantly. Michael rolled his eyes. 'It's not her time.'

'I'm the Holy Father. I'll say when it's her time,' God harrumphed. Michael raised a perfectly sculpted eyebrow. There was a long, dramatic pause. Michael's other eyebrow rose to join the first. More silence. Michael closed his eyes, breathed against the frustration. 

God nodded sagely. 'It's her time.'

Michael heaved out an almighty sigh. The tablet slapped against his thigh. 'Why do I even... Father, look. You can't just kill her.'

God just pouted. 'Why not?'

'Because I bloody well said so, that's _why_!'

There was a pause. Michael stared his father down. Somewhere off to the side, someone was singing the theme from the Good, the Bad and the Ugly at least three keys out of tune. Well, Michael thought, at least it wasn't the Titanic this time.

'Gabriel, knock it off!' He shouted. 

'Boo, you whore,' Gabriel called back, poking his tongue out at his eldest sibling. Remarkably younger looking than Michael, his blond hair flopped in front of his eyes. He flipped his brother off, then flew away.

Michael took a breath to recenter himself. 'Father, you're not killing her.'

God blinked owlishly. 'Yes.'

Michael blinked. 'What? No, father.' Michael reached forwards to prise the tablet out of his father's hands. His father twisted away.

'I'm doing it, watch me do it.'

'Father, no!' Michael lunged for his father.

God theatrically pressed the big, red button. SUBMIT shone out in black letters. A little grim reaper animation swung its scythe back and forth. God mock-gasped. 'Oops, it's done.' 

Michael threw his hands up. 'You are like a child. You have no idea what her death could've set into motion.'

'She wasn't important,' God said.

'Everyone is important you...mug!'

'Just curse son, it's okay.' God said in mock reassurance, placing a hand on his son's shoulder.

'I'm really seeing why Lucifer prefers earth...' Michael mumbled. He absently wondered if his brother had a guest room, and if he did, how much he'd charge for rent. Maybe he could deck his mother, or punch Amenadiel right in his stupid, smug, holier-than-thou face. Interfering...fucking.... _cockwombles_.

'Nice choice of insult son,' God sniggered. Michael blushed to the tips of his ears. He'd spoken out loud, because this was _apparently_ his life now. He spluttered out something unintelligent, and then he was gone. 

Hours later, when a man was lying shot dead in a hangar, the phrase _'I fucking told you so'_ rang out through the heavens.

**Author's Note:**

> *I'm British, so by chips I mean fries, not crisps. 
> 
> And thanks for reading! Please drop me a comment and let me know what you think!


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